Kill or be killed
by cryptic.kaffee
Summary: The Scottish Empire has been planning tyranny against the English and French governments. Arthur is devastated by how his brother changes, and decides he must do something to cure his sibling's madness. There is only one course of action now. Execution. Kill or be killed. (No lemon, technically yaoi, teenage! Scotland x young! England, and a one-shot.)


**Before I begin the story I would like to state that this idea was not mine originally. The basis for this fanfiction was off of a doujinshi I stumbled across. I, unfortunately, do not know the artist and cannot give the person themselves the rightful credit they deserve.**

**I wrote this story, but the true imagination behind it is not mine to claim or take rightful ownership of. Thank you for your understanding.**

**(This is a teenage! Scotland x young! England story. It is Hetalia, and has no lemon or mature content. But it could be considered dark/disturbing to some people.)**

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**A shaking little blond boy stood right outside an old looking door. His pale hands unmoving on the dank, cold knob. The portal to big brother Scotland's room. The path to his arch-nemesis's sanctuary. The place where that teenager with the burgundy hair would hole up for hours on end; only sitting on his bed or chair and facing the wall. Thinking.**

**But, England was more worried his older sibling's inward discussions were a bit more closely related to plotting. Plans to kill him. To tear his other loved kin, France, to the ground. Arthur's suspicions were not unsupported and ridiculous in the least, though. Over the years, there had been increasingly growing evidence of oncoming treachery from Allistor. Tiny, silly little things really. A faux raid on a nearby French town, a swarm of mobs bombarding the English countryside, supplies constantly being stolen from Arthur and Francis, murders in the streets from traveling Scotsmen. **

**England pushed those thoughts and acts of defiance away from himself. Now was not the time to linger on such things. He had already made his decision. Scotland has grown increasingly unstable over the years. Perhaps from war, pressure to achieve greatness; Arthur had many other plausible guesses. The most accurate was probably that Scotland was simply a sociopath long-gone from the path to redemption and wholeness. England had waited years for a sign of his loved sibling to show sanity once more, but those signals never flashed his way. It is time. Now. End this before you do something even stupider than what foolish act you are already planning to commit and have indeed set into motion.**

**Arthur tried not to tremble as he opened the door his hands had been stilled upon only moments before. There is no turning back. **

**England's eyes were met with utter darkness. He had been expecting at least a drop of light to find itself into Scotland's room, but Arthur could see no such ray in existence. The entire room was pitch black, but, Scotland's unnaturally bright red hair stuck out like a beacon against the blackness. The younger English country could see the teen perfectly.**

**The door which England had entered through didn't make a sound. No squeak or crack came from the old, battered piece of wood. It was almost as though even the inanimate object itself could sense the direness of the situation. And how fatal the overall outcome could be for Arthur.**

**Scotland had never held much stock or pride in décor. He wasn't a slob, no, but he wasn't very fancy or original with his furniture. Everything was simple and plain. Even the bed with which Scotland was sleeping in had pristine drapes and an identical, flat hue to the covers. **

**It wasn't as if England really paid the details much attention, though. Every ounce of his concentration was focused solely on that startlingly crimson head. Arthur internally wondered how his older brother's hair could be that luminous even in the dead of night with no moonshine coming to help light that scalp.**

**England felt the chill of cool floorboard underneath his bare feet. It made him want to turn back and run. His instincts were screaming at him to flee from the scene and pretend as though this whole thing had never taken place. That these thoughts present in his head had, in fact, never existed. **

**But newfound courage and desperation told him to keep moving. These feelings running solely on fear and growing hatred forced England to raise the glinting metal European knife that Arthur had been hiding under his cloak, but they could not stop Arthur's slim hands from shaking with fear.**

**The blade of the dagger was pointing downwards. Straight toward Scotland. If Arthur were to have dropped the weapon right there, it would have landed straight into the redhead's skull and sliced through his brain.**

**Tears furled shamelessly from England's now dark emerald green eyes. He couldn't do this. He couldn't….couldn't kill his own brother, his own flesh in cold blood.**

"**Do you really think you can stab me with those trembling hands?"**

**The voice came from Scotland as the older country turned over to face the younger and ran his long fingers through his own short hair. Arthur jumped on instinct and looked his would-be-victim straight on in the eyes. All at once panic flooded through England.**

**He was a dead man.**

"**Ah, b-brother…" he stuttered. Arthur could think of nothing else to say. There was no point; he'd be dead before he even hit the ground.**

**Scotland only looked at the shaking child in front of him with his usual intense stare. His eyes become sharp, (they had originally been slightly foggy due to sleepiness) and he raised himself just a small bit up onto the head of the bed. Irrational rage boiled through Scotland. Oddly enough, not because he might have been murdered by his sibling, (Scotland didn't think England had the guts or ruthlessness to commit such an act anyway) but because of how weak and pale Arthur seemed. **

**Scotland knew full well that England was scared; the other country was so dishonorable as to not even attempt to hide his own raw fear. All those lessons Allistor had given Arthur, so much of his own personal time and effort, wasted on this scrawny, cowardly, unable little child.**

**Close to no thought was put into Scotland's actions as he reached out with one hand toward his brother's own white skin. Allistor's grip on England's flesh was not tight, it was almost gentle at first, but then, suddenly and with no warning, his hold on Arthur's become horribly vice-like and threatening.**

**Another tremor overcame England as Scotland touched him. He tried to stop the now steady flow of tears, but his body dominated his train of thought. He was completely paralyzed with growing anticipation. Even when Allsitor's grasp had been somewhat soft; he still was not comforted. There was not trust to be beheld between these two foes.**

**How many times did I tell you," Scotland started coldly, unforgivingly. Arthur was shoved harshly into the sheets. They were rock hard and not warm at all (which they should have been from having a body laying on them for half of the night). A soft "ow" escaped England's lips, and he squirmed faintly; trying to get away from the man now straddling his stomach.**

"**In order to kill," He murmured again, "You have to cut here." Scotland brought the dagger up to the side of his own exposed throat. A smile suddenly brought itself onto Allistor's face. A cruel, wicked, threatening, humor-less thing that promised excruciating pain in the near future. The blade was sickeningly close to a bluish vein in Scotland's neck; Allistor brought the knife closer to his own life. Digging the glinting metal into his bare skin, but not yet hard enough to draw blood. England wanted desperately to release his hold on the cutglass, but Scotland did not allow him to. Every time Arthur struggled, Allistor tightened his grip and brought the metal closer.**

**Arthur opened his mouth to respond with something, anything to keep the Scottish talking and distracted, but the only thing that came out was a weak "ah."**

**A grin now unfurled from Allistor's lips; making him look like Satan himself.**

**Chuckling, Scotland now bore the thin brand fully into his flesh. A very thin drop of crimson dribbled down onto Arthur's cheek, colliding with a tear already present.**

"**What's the matter, England?" He asked dauntingly. Allistor stretched out his neck so that Arthur now had a full view of the clean cut already formed on the redhead's throat.**

"**A chance like this won't come a second time. Just pull and your hated brother will die." He whispered. England's eyes widened in terror.**

"**Just pull…."**

**Arthur held back from thrashing again; he could kill Allistor if he moved to much. "N-no!" He shouted. The feral smirk that had formed itself on Scotland's face vanished instantly. **

"**I said pull!"**

"**N-no!"**

**Rage overcame Allistor, and he promptly swatted Arthur's hands away. He brought the dagger into his own hands. England was now totally defenseless and completely at a killer's mercy.**

**The use and look of grass fire in the Scottish's eyes and his towering height over Arthur made the whole effect of a murderer frightening. Sobs again overcame the blond. He was going to die. He knew it.**

"**If you won't do it," Allistor snarled and brought the knife up to England's neck, "Then I will…KILL YOU!"**

**Arthur felt the cold steel burrow into his skin. His nerves were on fire and he had to suppress the urge to thrash about for his life. England tried to look those mad eyes right in the face, but he couldn't bear to do it. This truly was the end.**

"**I, then….do it" he whispered.**

**The new emotion of shock crossed unto Scotland. His eyes, identical to Arthur's, widened in disbelief at his kin's acceptance of his cruel fate. No. Not….not acceptance. **

'**He's challenging me,' Allistor thought. 'The snotrag, the little coward.' **

**Scotland wrinkled his nose in disgust, and prepared to slit the blond beneath him to shreds. England opened those eyes again, and the were staring at Allistor. Looking at him with the expression that made you want to kick him down even more after he had fallen.**

**Scotland's heart stopped.**

**It was like looking in a mirror. **

**Allistor saw himself in England's eyes. A new country being bullied by Whales and France, east Asians occupying new territory in the west. In the European nation's homes. Awful plagues and foreign soldiers destroying homes and dreams of villagers occupying one's country.**

**And, just looking through such a scene; Scotland felt a strange new emotion pump through his veins. It made his feel sick, like he was going to throw up. Like forgiveness was a hopeless, needy delusion for the weak. It would never be available to him. Scotland felt pity for England. He could empathize if he put his heart to it.**

"**Boring." He said emotionlessly, an unreadable mask sliding once again over his features. "This is boring."**

**Allistor moved sluggishly toward the open door that Arthur had been smart enough not to close. It was half past midnight. Scotland didn't look back toward the sounds of muffled sobbing as he stepped into the hallway and let the darkness guide him to where it may lead.**


End file.
